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And I wish I hadn't thought of that, because now I have the memory of our senior dance to reflect on. One more thing to berate myself over.
If only I hadn't been so damn stupid and childish. Every time I look back on that night, which I've done more times than I can count in the past several days, I cringe a little harder than before. Why did I do that? The girl never hurt me. She meant nothing to me and pretty much minded her own business as far as I can recall. I saw someone small, weak, and vulnerable, and I pounced.
What does that say about me? It's enough to make me wonder if she knows me better than I know myself. She’s seen my worst parts, the aspects of my personality which I’d rather bury. Unlike me, she faces them head-on rather than pretend they don’t exist.
My breath catches at the sight of headlights sweeping over the driveway, but the car doesn't belong to her. There's a pit in my stomach that gets a little larger with every passing moment, until the Porsche is illuminated by tasteful lights positioned at even intervals around the circular courtyard in front of the main entrance. I know that car, having seen it zipping around town for years. It's Rob Myers’ baby, and many times I’ve passed his house to find him waxing it in the driveway. The head of the city council and a real hard ass, he's the one whose approval I need most of all.
Another pair of headlights soon catches my eye, and I watch once again. Let it be her. Please, let it be her. She's arrogant, chilly, still holding me at arm’s length, but I need her. It's that simple. I need her to talk me off the ledge before this meeting starts. The idea is to allow everyone to mingle at the bar before I go down to lead them to the table reserved for us by the back windows. If I wanted to, I'm sure I could keep them waiting—it would give them more time to talk amongst themselves, though, and I'm not sure I want to do that, either. No sense in giving them the chance to make up their minds on what a shithead I am.
The sight of her stepping out of the car upon parking in front of the club is magic. Instantly, the tension that's been knotting my muscles all day dissolves. I sink into my chair, a little weak kneed, laughing softly in relief. Thank God. I don't have to go through this alone.
Still, I need to keep it together. I can't have her finding me shaking like a leaf all because she decided to get here at a reasonable time. Sitting up straight, I adjust my tie, then smooth my hair back with both hands. She kept me waiting. I can't have her thinking that's acceptable.
No sooner had she stepped through the doorway than I snort, looking her up and down. “Thanks for deciding to grace me with your presence.”
She stops short, and the way her head snaps back pairs well with her narrowed eyes.
“I'll have you know I came real close to earning myself a speeding ticket out there. Try not to be such a baby.” She sets her bag down on the leather sofa and rolls her head from side to side like she's working out stiffness. “If I could have gotten here any faster, I would have.”
“Maybe you should have left earlier.”
“Maybe the entire world doesn't revolve around you, Sawyer. Try to keep that in mind, okay? We want you to act at least semi-human in front of these people, or you're only going to make things worse.”
She checks the time—I can't help but admire her watch along with the rest of her. “Besides, I looked around down there and there are still a few missing members. Are you going to give them shit, too?”
“Alright,” I grumble. Why is it I can never get the upper hand with her? If I didn't know better, I would think she plans out her reactions in advance. If that were true, it would mean I'm too predictable. Am I?
This is not the time for me to start second guessing my every thought.
“You look nice,” I offer.
Her mouth sets in a smirk while she scrolls through something on her phone. “Thank you for your approval.”
“Is it so wrong to offer a compliment?”
Her smirk only deepens when she lifts her head, quirking an eyebrow. “Maybe I'm just not used to hearing them from you.”
This again. There's a very large part of me that wants to tell her to get over it, but I can't afford to push her away. There's letting my mouth get away from me, and there's shooting myself in the foot. “Well, you do,” I offer again, this time in a softer voice.
“Thanks.” She touches a hand to the pearls around her neck, and unless I'm mistaken there's a flush on her cheeks by the time she returns her attention to her phone. “According to what I saw downstairs, comparing them to the photos I found online, we are missing Ed Saunders and Craig Davis. The others are down there.”
“You looked them up online?”
“I believe in being prepared.” Finally she lowers her phone, favoring me with a full stare. “Did you think I was kidding when I said I knew what I'm doing? I have to research my opponents.”
“And you consider them opponents?”
“Right now, yes. They stand in the way of you getting what you want, and that goes far beyond granting approval to expand your dining room. You want their approval, their acceptance, and you want this to blow over. That means knowing who we're dealing with and how to get through to them short of getting on our knees and begging.”
I'd love to get her on her knees.
I need a cold shower.
Not for the first time, I wonder if there'd be any chance of spending time together one-on-one after this is all over. Right now, I doubt it—she’s about as icy as the harbor in the heart of January.
But damn, that dress and the body it covers has my mind moving in directions it absolutely should not explore at a time like this. I won’t be able to get her out of my head until I'm able to indulge in those curves, and that's the problem in a nutshell. If I could have her, I could forget her. The novelty would be gone, and with it my interest. That's the way it usually is.
And here she is, practically wearing a sign that says Do Not Touch hanging from those pearls of hers.
